The Boy In The Woods

I did not grow up in the country. But our suburban neighborhood was a lot like a small town in those days. I had plenty of freedom to wander the back alleys of the main street in the old downtown area. To walk the railroad tracks, or ride bikes to the gravel pit, or follow the river through the woods. My own son did not have that kind of freedom. Though he grew up only two miles from where I did a lot of things change about a place in 20 years. He had less agency for it. We had to work with him on things that I learned to do on my own. Like finding his way places. Which is why one of the best things you can do for your child is to raise them someplace they can do things unsupervised.

Teaching children how to do dangerous things safely helps to build confidence. My son got some of that through scouting and playing team sports. Still those things are adult supervised. It was not until he was doing things on his own that he grew capable. Unsupervised time in nature lets children learn to be independent and rely on themselves. The decline in time spent outdoors and rise in screen time is bad for their physical and mental health. I am closer these days to having grandchildren than my own young children but have hopes for what their lives will be like.

As a boy I was inspired by the fictional adventures of Calvin, and his pet tiger, Hobbes. The comic strip came out when I was seven years old. Only a year older than Calvin. Each Sunday I would follow his adventures in the woods. Captivated by a sense of what I now know is bittersweetness. As if something was being conveyed to me that had already been lost. Feeling nostalgia for a time I never lived in. In middle age I get that way reading about the boyhood of the real-life Christopher Robin. Son of English writer A.A. Milne and the origin of Winnie-the-Pooh. Milne purchased a country home in Hartfield, East Sussex, in 1925. Cotchford Farm. Inspired by nearby Ashdown Forest, and his son's imagination, he soon wrote stories of a boy and a bear and their adventures. I want my home to be a place like that, here in New England.

I live in a place other places send their children to summer camp. A place where my young nephew, and one day my grandchildren, can come to form a connection to the natural world. A place where they can experience difficulty, learn to cope with discomfort, and how to overcome minor setbacks. All within earshot. Where my family can find their sense of wonder again by seeing the world around them through a child's eyes. There is this strange interval after your child is an adult, but does not have children of their own, when there are no children in your life. You do not get to see the world that way anymore and it shrinks a bit.

One should not waste the opportunity while they have it. As a ruralist I talk a great deal about the advantages of moving to the country and hear all manner of objections. Not so much to the idea that the country is a better place to raise a family. People see there are advantages to close-knit community and easy access to nature. They have to be willing to accept tradeoffs for their children to grow up with the same freedom they had. But how often do you get to turn back the clock to give them a thing that was already lost?